All the Old Familiar Places
by beautyofsorrow
Summary: Snapshots of B'Elanna's emotions during key moments in her journey towards finding a home.
1. Prologue: Extreme Risk

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor claim to own any of the following characters, places, or events.

**Author's Note: **Inspired by the lovely fanfictions of BonesBird, this is my first foray into the world of drabbles. These are all converted poems inspired by screencaps, ranging from the tip-top moments of B'Elanna's life to the depths of her struggles with emotion. If you'd like to read the poems, PM me.

**Episode: **Season 5 - Extreme Risk, 1 of 20**  
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><p><em>Torres Zeta-1.<em>

He said them, and she started back from him like a dog who no longer knew her master. _No. No. _Her mind trembled around the word, knees buckling at the betrayal. This was not Chakotay. It couldn't be. He wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't trick her down these long gray snaking halls with his smile and those cursed dimples of his that melted her every time.

This was not Chakotay. It couldn't be. He wouldn't do this. Not to her.

But he was. It was. And now he was grabbing her, wrenching her forward through those silver doors, tossing her into hell. The recycled air screeched against her bare shoulders, her mind screaming for her to run from him even as the screams clapped against her ears. _No. No._ She was remembering. When would she trip? Whose body first? What had she done?

Everything was wrong, glittering like the shards of her trust they were. She dragged her feet against the carpet, cursing herself for wearing her boots and not something with more traction, writhing and jerking and scratching at the one man she thought she'd never have to fear.

And that's what this was.

Terror.


	2. Blood Fever

They would never know how hard it was, keeping control. All they saw were the fists and dented bulkheads, the broken noses and expletives—those actions that painted her into the corner she feared she'd never escape. _Oh, she's Klingon. It's her nature._

But they would never know.

Now she was here, shivering despite the sunlight tumbling down her back and shoulders and sharpening the taste of copper in the muggy air. She was filthy, flesh ripped and crusted with cavern grime. But none of it mattered, because they'd seen these, and she'd seen them, and…it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered past this, the stripping of her walls, the act of being laid bare before the eyes of those you lived with but weren't ready to trust. A cold wind fingered her, crooking into the crevices and dragging out her secrets like a cat with its lizards and mice. She hunched over her knees and tried not to wretch.

Everything else she could laugh off, admit, forget. But a tear was a precious thing, a thing unknown but to the most trusted.

They knew her now. They _knew_ her.


	3. Day of Honor

What he was saying was true, and that's why her fingers ached. She shouldn't have come today. Skipping lunch wouldn't kill her. She'd done it before. But now it was too late—she was here, he'd sat down, and her heart was clattering so hard she was sure he'd stop and ask about it. But he kept baring her fears to the room. It didn't matter that he talked quietly, that his amber eyes were soft and liquid and meant only for her in their compassion. He was telling her everything she didn't want to hear, and she was squirming, strangling her fingers with her grip. But what he was saying was true, and that's why she couldn't run away.

There they were, all her fears jumbled with the sharp smells of the food before her—and she was too afraid to open her mouth and tell him to go away. Nothing he said could convince her to embrace what she bore on her forehead. Nothing. But she couldn't tell him that, because if she opened her mouth the five-year-old B'Elanna would come tumbling out. And that scared her more than his words. So she sat.

Running never worked.


	4. Hunters I

At first he was just Chakotay, there to make sure she was okay. Everyone was getting letters, reconnecting, smiling as they went about their work. But she wasn't, and it was only natural for him to check on her. He was her rock, her confidant. Of course he was there for her. That's what made him Chakotay.

But then she turned, and in five counts of silence she knew fear. "Chakotay?" she whispered. Her soul was in that word. "What is it?"

She looked at him, at his heart breaking in his eyes, at his weight shifting from foot to foot, and watched helplessly as her security crumbled. _What now life?_ she wanted to scream. _What have you stripped from me today? _

_Daddy?_ The thought was betrayal. He'd left her. Ripped her five-year-old heart out and stuffed it in his suitcase, never to give it back. Forced her to grow a new one. She wouldn't care about him. But she would, and he knew that. So who was it? Which shard of her heart would she bury today?

Maybe he just needed her. She hoped so.


	5. Hunters II

She gripped the railing because her knees had buckled, and she knew that if she went down she wouldn't get up again. They were gone. All of them. She couldn't believe it. She _refused_ to believe it. And yet she gripped the railing and stared unseeingly at the shapes moving below her because she _did_ believe it. Her heart was breaking, piece by jagged piece, breaking with every name she remembered. Greta, Meyer, Nelson, Andy…

Sahreen and the way she'd shaken her head before B'Elanna stomped on thin ice. Roberto and that stink-bomb soup he'd made the night before the Gorrach'n raid. Atara and her laughter like raindrops on flowers. All gone. Dead. Murdered.

No, not murdered. Slaughtered.

"I'll make someone pay. I swear it. When we get back." She shoved out the words, ready to die from the pain. And then it hit her, and she looked at him, brown eyes bleeding tears, knowing that no one would pay. "If we get back."

They wouldn't make it back. She knew it. So who would pay?

Someone had to pay. She'd sworn it.

So B'Elanna Torres would pay.


	6. Extreme Risk I

She stood at the edge of the shuttle and stared out at the gray canvas sky. The weight of the holographic gear pulled on her, but she held the sensation close because it told her she was still alive. Her eyes were dry—that's all they could be anymore—and she squinted against the light bouncing off her helmet. The familiar nothingness invaded her, stole her, but what she didn't know was that she did it to herself.

_Override_, she'd said that night so many months ago. _Override_. And every week since, sometimes multiple times a day. Whenever she could get away, whenever she could sneak through the empty halls to her quarters and hide her wounds from the probing eyes of love. They said they loved her—Tom, Chakotay, Harry, the Captain—but they didn't really. Because love wasn't real, and what they called love always failed in the end. Just like it'd failed with her father.

Even that did nothing to her.

The wind whipped her hair and she leaned forward, heart rat-a-tatting at the sight of the clouds far below her. It would work this time. She knew it.


	7. Extreme Risk II

She left the holodeck still in the skydiving gear and walked into a world of gray. The bulkheads, the carpets, the halls of people snaking before and behind her—all washed out and empty. Only the pain reminded her of this thing called color.

It'd been seven months since the laughter and smiles drained into masks and hollow sounds, and only she knew it. Anyone looking at her would have called her desperate, but desperation required feelings, and feelings were emotions. She didn't know what those were anymore.

"_Lieutenant. Is something wrong?"_

Even the words were gray. She turned to look at Seven and stood with her mouth open, trying to find an answer that would satisfy her. There had been more words before them, maybe some of them hers, but she couldn't be sure. "Actually…I'm not feeling well." Again the conversation was slipping away…

"Shall I inform the Doctor that you are ill?"

She snapped her eyes up. "No. Don't." And those words weren't gray. But Seven left, the color faded, and she was back to the ashen hallway. B'Elanna turned and resumed the walk to her quarters.

There was the emptiness, and the pain. That was all.


	8. Extreme Risk III

For a moment, she just stared at the plate and let everything tumble through her mind like clothes in the drying machines Tom described from the 21st century. Sveta's letter, Chakotay's news, the rage and tears and emptiness. The gray of nothing and the sharp flaring colors of the pain. Around and around they flung until she blinked her focus to the food below.

The sweetness was sharp in her nostrils, the fork sharp in her palm. At first her motions were tentative, the utensil slicing slowly into the fluffy cakes and the fragrant morsel inching toward her mouth like a bite of Neelix's cooking. But then she tucked her lips around it and chewed. As she did, the memories flooded her senses in a healing rush.

She remembered (_the rich dark smells, Abuela's throaty laugh, flames dancing in the hearth, the sparkle in her mother's eyes_), and it came to her, stealing across her lips like a shadow falling from the corners of her soul. It was quiet, gentle, like a wind nesting in the sails, but to her it was as brilliant as a south pole sunrise.

Her banana pancake smile.


	9. Course: Oblivion I

**A/N:** It's not technically canon, seeing as these are biomimetic copies of the crew, but this episode had some moments that were too good to pass up. And they were identical, anyway - right? (See my story Come What May if you're interested in *that* AU.)

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><p>They were standing in the corridor facing the slate gray doors, and suddenly she didn't know if she could do this. What if she wasn't ready? What if she embarrassed herself in front of the whole crew? Tripping into the cake, dropping the ring, fumbling her vows—the possibilities were endless. But if she were really honest with herself, she knew the root of her worries.<p>

"Do I look okay?" she asked breathlessly, breaking away from him.

"You're beautiful," he answered, dimples showing.

"Really? You're sure?"

"You'll take their breath away."

"You're not just saying that?"

Dark eyes quieting, he raised a hand to frame her cheek and waited until he had her eyes. "He loves you, B'Elanna."

"I know."

"And he always will. I made sure of that."

At her look, he laughed. "Kathryn doesn't always have the last word on matters such as these."

"You mean…" Tears pricked her eyes as he nodded. "Thank you." She hugged him. "Thank you, Chakotay. I…that means a lot."

He winked and offered his arm. This time, she took it without hesitation. It was her wedding day, and her father would give her away. What more could a girl wish for?


	10. Course: Oblivion II

She was strong in the loneliness, but when she heard his voice she crumbled.

The cold—it was inside her, creeping into her bones like frostbite over a slumbering infant, and she could do nothing to halt it. It was too much for her trembling limbs to take. She couldn't hold back the gasps. Cold, so cold…

"B'Elanna!" _No, Tom, you can't be scared. Please, please be strong for me. I need you. _

His fingers touched her arm and she clutched them, too far gone to care about her dignity. After all, he was her husband now, and she'd promised to trust him with her life, to love him…always. And for her, love meant vulnerability.

Cold, so cold—she couldn't move, could only gasp and tremble as the icy fingers snaked their way into her body. He was on his knees before her, touching her cheek, trying to comfort her through his fear. Why was she on the floor? What was wrong with her? Why was this happening?

_One day. One day, and I'm already dying. Till death to us part…I guess I made it easy for you, Tom. I'm sorry._

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><p><strong>AN:** Hindsight is 20/20 they say, and now I realize that this episode could host a series of drabbles on its own. However, I wouldn't dare touch the sickbay scene, where Tom is describing their honeymoon (oh how I wish DS9 had given such a marvelous scene to Jadzia's death!), and the wedding I've already wrung dry in "Come What May." Next up is the real wedding episode, "Drive." :)


	11. Drive I

It was so quiet she could almost hear her heart breaking.

She'd convinced herself they were scars long healed, with only puckered and paler memories to show for them. After all, she loved him, didn't she? And love heals all wounds.

But now she was slumped against the bulkhead, relieved at the privacy of her office. Of course, she'd rather be with him… How many more times would he do this to her? Would it never stop? Captain Proton, holographic cars, jealous alien ships, Irish girls that blushed and wore fancy dresses—and now…this.

A race.

She loved him, but was love really worth it when she was merely a consolation prize? She closed her eyes against the pain because she didn't have to look at it anymore to recognize it. Raw and merciless, it still flayed her, ripped her open and salted her with the repetition, then let her fester with the memories. Memories of the forgotten, the outcast, the weird one. The second best.

Or the not at all.

Shrugging acceptance, B'Elanna shoved back her tears. It was time she woke up to reality.


	12. Drive II

She sat on the couch and wondered how much more she'd get done if he weren't in the equation. The pain would be there for a while, she knew, but it would dull and go away, only to haunt her if she lingered too long in the mirror. There was no doubt that he distracted her, stilled her hands when they should be writing reports or upgrading the sensors that might detect the wormhole leading home.

Home. Where was home anymore?

He'd obviously found one here (_or on the _Flyer, she thought bitterly), and she'd thought she had, too. But now she was sitting in the mess hall, alone, dissecting her padd's casing and fighting to hold onto the pain. The last thing she needed was the numbness.

What was that word her grandmother had always used? She knew she had to break it off with him, free him to pursue his dreams. It was because she loved him that she would let him go. Besides, then she could breathe, and spend time on those things she loved without worrying about their being yanked away just when she let herself hope.


	13. Drive III

"_Are we talking about them or us?"_

His words hit her ears like a searchlight blaring onto her soul. She fought the urge to recoil as she flicked her eyes up from the console, up to meet his blue ones staring back at her. She didn't want to look at him because she knew he would see into her, right down to the fears of her heart.

Her secret heart.

What if…what if she was reading him wrong, and he was only frustrated with her and tired of their fights and uncertainties? What if he'd found someone else? What if he hadn't been surprised yesterday, but angry? What if he didn't love her anymore?

What if he never had?

She knew this was ridiculous, that it was the perfect chance to let him love her the way she longed to be loved. She was desperate for that kind of love, but it was because she was desperate that she held back. He'd opened the door for her, and all she could do was sit and stare, lips parted in silent cry, fear thrashing in her gut,

and drop her eyes.

"_What? No, I didn't mean…"_


	14. Drive IV

_Hope_

He was down in front of her, hands hovering around her shoulders, voice soft and warm against her ears, and she couldn't quite believe it. But she wanted to believe it, because…she loved him.

_that moment_

Even after Alice, after Fair Haven, after the Camaro and everything else that had come before her over the last three years, he'd still stopped the _Flyer_—dropped out of the race just to look her in the eye.

_when hand kisses shoulder_

His palms were gentle on her shoulders, fingers light and splayed.

_and blue blends with brown_

He was close enough to kiss her if he wanted to, but she could see in his eyes that he wouldn't, not unless she gave him permission. And that's what she loved about him.

_colliding_

She couldn't stop her gaze from locking with his, couldn't keep her heart from shivering at the sight of him.

_coalescing_

They were out of the race, and he didn't care. This blue-eyed flyboy had forfeited the race for _her_. Why would he have done that, unless he loved her? B'Elanna looked at him—really looked at him…and let herself believe.

_in a color full of maybe._


	15. Imperfection

**Timeline:** Going by the air dates, "Imperfection" took place before "Drive." Going by content, stardate, and any good Trek fan's intense desire to get things right, "Imperfection" takes place after both "Drive" and "Repression." (Just ask Tom's wedding ring or the _Delta Flyer II_ if you doubt my logic.)

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><p>Death, when it was quick, was not something that scared her. She'd seen too much of it as a Maquis to let it paralyze her anymore. But when it was slow, and known, and spoken into the air by this blue-eyed woman before her…that's when she trembled.<p>

"_It will be as if they—as if I never existed."_

Her heart broke at those words, broke because she understood them, broke because she cried them every time the darkness made it too hard to breathe. Maybe she didn't know about an afterlife, or honorable deaths, or anything else beyond the world of math and mechanics, but B'Elanna Torres would not sit by and watch another soul descend into the vast grayness of the forgotten.

She knew as she lowered herself to the floor that she wouldn't fold her arms, wouldn't focus on the green light blipping in the corner of her eye, wouldn't drop her gaze if her words became too true.

If she had no words, then she had no words. She wouldn't force comfort into existence, for then it wouldn't be comfort at all.


	16. Workforce I

Her heart had fluttered that day, when she'd looked up into those happy blue eyes, that handsome face so eager to befriend her. But then she'd remembered, and stood quickly to minimize the pain. It worked (that snuffing of the eyes), and that had been the end of it. Until tonight.

—I'm somebody, she thought as she stood there, half-turned towards the door but not really wanting to go because she hadn't felt this happy in months. Not since…but no, she wouldn't think of that now, because she was smiling, and he was here in front of her, and she was remembered.

Remembered.

She was wounded, yes, but she was healing. She had scars, shameful ones, but they held stories, and perhaps—looking at this man before her—she would tell them one day. She was fragile, but growing stronger; broken, but her eyes were shining, shining from her soul. She was pregnant, but she loved her baby, no matter how she'd come to be, and maybe, just maybe, this man could learn to love them too.

She had known fear, but now she knew love, and there was no fear in love.


	17. Workforce II

She touched it because he handed it to her, and stared at this part of her life she knew nothing about. But it was true—it had to be, because she was here, in their quarters, holding the frame and looking down at her joy and his smile, and she knew she'd never been that happy before. Her head pounded, trying to sort it all out, and it seemed that the only thing she could count on was the life nestled inside her.

Her baby. His baby?

She looked at the picture again, at her laughter, at his grin, the way his nose brushed her cheek and the cut of her eyes as she stretched to see him. Champagne, the rings, the _Delta Flyer_.

_Thanks, but I already have a ring._

Yes. Yes, she remembered. Slowly, fuzzily, but it was there. The shiver that ran through her whenever they touched, even if just in passing. The way she'd stare at the band around her finger when she was alone, just to make sure it was for real. Then a memory, a flash of words.

His lips, a kiss…_I love you, B'Elanna Torres_.

I love you, Tom Paris.


	18. Workforce III

The honeymoon picture, the television, the cartoons…it was all too strange, too forced and…no. It couldn't be. She'd only just met the man, and it didn't matter that she'd thought about letting him in, opening her heart to him. It couldn't be possible. None of this was happening. It was…it was a bad dream. _(A good dream…) _It had to be.

But then she saw the cradle.

B'Elanna wobbled, knees suddenly too weak to support her, and hardly dared to touch it as she knelt. The rainbow colors of the mobile blurred and ran together into raindrops of memory, pattering down about her to the sound of breaking chains.

"_Maybe we should name her Kuvah'magh just to be safe."_

(The darkening of his eyes as he looked at her, light catching on his wedding ring.)

"_Put it on the list."_

(She couldn't keep her voice steady, had to feather her words to keep from cracking open too wide, showing him too much. Even now, she was afraid. Afraid, but so in love.)

"I wondered why he was so protective of me," she whispered, and felt the beginning of a sunrise.


	19. Author, Author

She whisked through the gray halls, eyes on the padd in her hand, other hand brought up to rest on her swollen belly as she read the first words. _Dear B'Elanna, I know it's been more than twenty years, but…_ Her heart stuttered.

"Hey. What's that?" he asked, and fell in with her, long legs taking one stride to her two.

"It's from my father. He wants to talk."

"What are you going to do?" _Oh no. Please not that question._

"Well, I've already arranged to talk with my cousin." A lie, but she'd do it now. Anything to keep from reopening this wound.

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't mind waiting a few weeks."

She stopped, eyes down, fingers squeezing the padd so hard she expected the casing to crack. "I wouldn't know what to say to him." That much was true. Twenty years of immunity built up, and it'd all come crumbling down as Seven handed her the letter. She couldn't possibly talk to him now. There was nothing left to say.

"Then let him do the talking," he said softly.

She looked at him and wondered what she'd ever done to deserve his ring around her finger.

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><p><strong>AN:** Some of you are probably crying foul, wondering why in the DQ did I skip Lineage? Well...I have about 11 poems for Lineage drabbles alone, so I'm working on a separate fic for it. This fic is in no way comprehensive...I'd have to have 100+ chapters for that.


	20. Epilogue: Endgame

Her daughter settled into her arms in a way beautiful and natural, and she feared her heart would burst from the strength of her joy.

Miral. Her daughter.

She rolled the words around in her mind, trying to comprehend them, move them past syllables and into fact, but it was no use. This…this was beyond explanation. She looked at Miral again, eyes caressing the contours of her baby's face. Why had she ever wanted to change her? That alien—yet somehow completely natural—sensation swept through her, almost intoxicating in its thrill, and she couldn't keep the awed laughter from escaping her lips.

_Not a chance…_Tom's words came back to her, trailing memories of gentle lips and smoky eyes drawing back to lock with hers, words unneeded to speak the promise they held. Kahless, she loved him. _Not a chance_, he'd said, and her heart had stuttered, not quite believing it, wondering if it could possibly be true. Wondering if she'd ever be able to abandon herself to his love. Ever? She already had.

But now here she was, holding her daughter—_their_ daughter—crying a smile down into her face, and she knew. He wouldn't leave her. Not a chance.

_Begin_

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><p><strong>AN:** The poem for this drabble/flashfic is posted here (on FFN) under the title "First Love."


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